On My Knees
by KNewer
Summary: Where Bones learns that he's a little bit of a control freak with his duties and his coffee tastes like feet. Jim/Bones.
1. You're Hot

It had been going on 48 hours when the first waves of deep, bone aching weariness started to settle over him and when he had to blink a few extra times to clear the blurriness eating at the edges of his periphery; that was when he stuck himself with his second stimulant.

The '_psst'_ of the hypo and gentle pinch of discomfort barely registered before he was up and out of his office, tugging on his bloody scrubs. He'd need to change them, he thought briefly, shuttering through a list a mile and half long in his head of things he _had_ to do, like eat, change Jim's bandages, hunt down Spock, beat him, then treat him, get some coffee, counsel the crew, do hundreds of autopsies, check on Pike, sleep... his mind whirled and he stopped to take a steadying breath. Prioritizing was the only way he was staying sane.

And he had to be sane, steady _and _act refreshed. He had another surgery to perform and being jittery wouldn't cut it. It wasn't like he could just hand it off to another doctor. He was the _only_ certified MD onboard, at least, the only one functioning past making their bio-beds go _'beep beep beep' _which was steadily driving McCoy up the walls.

He brushed past Chapel with a murmured apology, leaving her gaping in his path, because _'did Doctor McCoy just apologize?'_

He pushed into the prep room and peeled off his two day old, multiple impromptu, have to have it _now_ surgery scrubs over his head and down his legs, barely processing the lingering stiffness and sharp ache in his shoulder blades as he rolled them.

He was dressed and scrubbing in before he realized he was even walking into the O.R. Bright, central lights were trained and more attentive than anyone else in the room on the prone figure laying on the sterile table that not but forty hours earlier had held both Pike and Kirk.

McCoy took a deep breath and cleared the phantom blood from his memories, snapping the latex gloves over his surgeon gowns sleeves. He eyed each of his attending nurses, noting that they all needed a good round of scotch, or three, a hearty meal and a couple days hibernation.

They would get them, he'd make sure of it.

"Alright, ladies and gentlemen. Let's begin." And with that, the laser scalpel was handed to him without a word.

/

It would take weeks to get back to Earth. Their warp core was gone and they were being pushed sluggishly through space by propulsion alone. Scotty was beside himself, working his body and hands down to the bone and into an early grave.

McCoy would have none of it.

He had made a deal with Jim and had set the plan in motion as soon as the Captain begrudgingly agreed to let Bones sneakily and very underhandedly lure Scotty out of Engineering with promises of sandwiches.

He wasn't sorry when the wide eyed Scotsman realized that there was no sandwiches and that he had been led into a trap as soon as the hypo hit his exposed neck. He was so exhausted that he blearily flailed around while he tried to escape the wrath of the sedative hypo McCoy had been wielding when he had rounded the corner.

"Little too late, Scotty," Bones murmured, his own body, aching and strained from overuse, protesting at having to lift deadweight. He grunted and managed to get Scotty's ass on the bio-bed and unceremoniously let him drop halfway, sprawling across the sheets. He grunted, stooping and grappling the dead-to-the-world man's legs, hauling them up with a vein bulging from his forehead before finally throwing them up and over the lip of the bed with a satisfied sigh.

He straightened Scotty up a bit, not quite that cruel as to leave him in a joint aching position when the man woke. Though if anyone asked, it would be because he didn't want to hear him bitching about being sore.

He threw a blanket over Scotty and dropped the lights over his bed to pitch blackness as he made it to his office.

As the door closed McCoy sagged into his own exhaustion. There was _no_ time for him to rest, there was still so many untreated injuries filing into sickbay. Excuses running from, _'It was just some bruising! I didn't think it was that bad,'_ to, _'I didn't even realize I was hurt till someone said I was bleeding all over the floor.'_

He had already ordered over half of his staff off duty before realizing that he was still going to be swamped with dunder-headed ensigns, yeomans and various other morons that had taken upon themselves to diagnose their maladies as nothing serious.

He ran his hands, aching, swollen and tight from overuse, through his mess of hair and then rubbed the heels of his palms into his eye sockets viciously.

Spots exploded from the pressure and he slowly let them clear, eyes closed in a small moment of respite before the next idiot came in from the _Narada_ incident with injuries severe enough to have them pissing blood or hemorrhaging slowly into their abdominal cavity.

Well, that was just the one case and internal bleeding was probably _not_ something he'd see again anytime soon unless it was someone being brought in via body bag.

He wanted to weep in frustration when his comm went off because he _needed_ to sleep, but there was no sleep for Doctors on call 24/7, especially for the only Doctor on board a spacecraft currently a month and a handful of weeks away from Earth.

Bones was a little startled when he stood straight and realized he was seeing double. Stimulant number– he couldn't remember, pressed against his neck and hissed and pinched at his tender skin as he depressed the hypo. The afterthought of rubbing the spot where countless pinches of tiny needles had injected pick-me-ups over the past week was routine and he didn't even realize he had been doing it when he walked out into sickbay to meet his next patient until the patient commented on it.

"Neck bothering you Doctor?"

Sulu, his brain supplied as it rattled off his medical record – age; too fucking young, list of past injuries; less than Jim's and more than Chekhov's, and allergies; none so far.

He blinked owlishly as Sulu tilted his head in worry. Realizing that he hadn't answered he dropped his hand from his neck, "Just old, kid."

Sulu looked like he wanted to argue because you'd have to blind to miss the little totes of baggage hanging out under his eyes and pasty sallowness of his skin from having stayed up under way too many stimulants.

Bones cleared his throat, "What's the problem?"

And it was all business then. The light tremors that his hands seemed to have picked up, sometime in the past 24 hours he's surmised, have subsided for the time being and he started a list of tiny miracles in his head, next to the super fucking long list of things he's never going to finish if he crashes.

His tricoder is out and sweeping up and down Sulu before the man has even a second to reply, "Doc, it's just a sprain."

McCoy snorts, "I see that. You're also dehydrated and," Bones looks hard at Sulu, "How many meals have you missed?"

The young man squirms under McCoy's haggard glare because it's somewhat more terrifying than his regular one, "I've ate, I've just," Sulu halts and closes his eyes, taking a deep breath, "It's just hard to eat with so much that needs fixing."

And if McCoy wasn't such a fucking hypocrite, he'd agree, pat Sulu on the back and tell him to take it easy. But McCoy was a fucking hypocrite and glared at the young helmsman and with that sharp tongue, he issued forth a command with husky and cracking words from his dry throat, "Get some fucking food, Sulu, otherwise I'm gonna shove a goddamn tube down your throat and fucking force feed you. You have a responsibility to take care of yourself, kid. You don't want me on your case."

Sulu curbed the glare forming because he knew the Doctor hadn't been able to rest and didn't have a choice. The rest of them did, even if Scotty disagreed. Kirk had ordered it before he had collapsed on the bridge; no working where you didn't get eight hours sleep. But damn if those words didn't sting, because McCoy _wasn't_ taking care of himself and he expected everyone around him to do so. So, Sulu nodded curtly and Bones' face softened.

McCoy rubbed his forehead, pinching the bridge of nose every so often, "Just, give me a minute, kid." The Doctor had leaned against the bio-bed and Sulu watched worriedly as the man's legs seemed to sway. Bones sucked in a breath and stood back upright, seemingly over the spell, "Sorry, just been a long day."

Sulu nodded slowly, "I'll go grab some food after. Anything else?"

Bones held up Sulu's arm and prodded at the elbow that was swollen and bruised, gaging the young man's reaction, "It's old Earth medicine, but for a sprain like this, sometimes the old techniques are the best." Bones eyed the appendage once more before letting it go, "Get an ice pack and let it sit, should bring the swelling down. As for me snapping at you earlier, I'm sorry. Just be sure to get your allocated calories for the day and suck down some water."

Sulu smiled a small smile, "No problem, Doctor. Be sure to take care of yourself too," Bones flashed the young man a withering glare and Sulu held his hands up in placation, "You look like shit, just calling it like I see it, Doc."

"Scram, kid," he snarled, but it lacked the heat and ferocity it normally held.

/

Another week had passed and now McCoy was hunting down Jim because the asshole needed to have another exam. He was passed the rage and self-righteous anger of Jim never taking care of himself and listening to his body when it reached its limits.

Because as much as Bones wanted to ream Jim out for his recklessness, he himself was worse. He'd run out of stimulant hypos a few days ago and was now running on sheer willpower and replicated coffee that tasted like feet.

He'd need to talk to Scotty about that because he was sure it was some kind of retribution for teasing him with sandwiches.

He was unfocused and incredibly jumpy from the caffeine in his system, but he'd managed not to scare anyone so far, at least, he thought he hadn't. But then he thought of that little ensign two floors and a hallway back that had squawked because he nearly took her head off with a left hook. She snuck up on him in his defense. He grimaced and belatedly thought about pasting a sign to his back and front that said to _not_ approach him.

Jim was on the bridge as he suspected and had dreaded this confrontation the whole way up because then everyone would know how manically tired he was, hiding in sickbay had some perks.

"Jim," he croaked, voice rusty and gritty. He walked up to the command chair and settled his body against it, relishing the sweet reprieve for just a moment. He closed his eyes, something springing to the forefront of his mind and cursed himself. He forgot the stupid fucking hypo he needed for intimidation purposes.

The Captain shrank sheepishly into his chair. No matter the quality of the Doctor's voice, he knew when he was in trouble, "Sorry, Bones. Been busy."

McCoy grunted and fought with insanely reluctant eyelids, peeling them open to catch Jim's, "Too busy to just swing by medical, let me check your healing progress and be on your merry way?"

Jim smiled crookedly, "Course."

Bones sighed heavily, pushing away from the chair with some difficulty, hating how heavy his limbs felt and hating more how little energy he had in him to bully Jim down to sickbay "Fine, come by later, otherwise I'm going to skin you alive."

Jim blinked once, then twice and watched as McCoy shuffled off the bridge, "Did that just happen?"

Sulu cleared his throat, "Sir, Doctor McCoy's been on call since the _Narada_ incident." He gave the Captain a meaningful look and Jim's mouth gaped open in astonished comprehension. Sulu nodded at him, "People keep coming in, having delayed the inevitable, but what they don't understand is that medical has suffered fort it."

Jim swallowed hard, standing and eyed the Vulcan hovering near the science station, "Spock, take the conn."

He tilted his head lightly, "Sir."

Jim watched the Vulcan sweep over to stand near the command chair and had to stifle the itching tightness that closed around his throat whenever he was near Spock. He assumed he would get over that whole strangling thing, but it wasn't going to be soon.

His thoughts turned to Bones and wondered angrily why he hadn't noticed sooner. Bones was going to give himself a coronary if he didn't just _stop_.

The turbolift ride down to sickbay was quick and efficient, like the rest of the _Enterprise_. He looked around surprised at the number of crewmen in various states of consciousness. Then noticed Bones at the very end of the row of bio-beds, body swaying lightly and hand quivering as he scrolled through readings of the patient he was currently attending.

Jim idly wondered how much Bones' would hate him if he sedated him right now. He looked around and noticed a distinct lack of nurses and frowned.

Narrowing his eyes, Jim marched up to his friend and spun him around, horrified that the man was so out of it that his balance was shot. He grabbed for Bones as he tilted sideways and hauled him upright, finally getting a good look at his face. Jim frowned and smoothed a hand over Bones mussed hair, terrified that that the man hadn't said anything or pulled out of his grip.

"Bones?"

And just like that, McCoy snapped out of it and snatched himself away from Kirk's support, instantly regretting it as his knees crumbled under him. Jim swore and gathered Bones in his arms and led him from the prying eyes of his few conscious patients and into his office. He lowered Bones' heavily lethargic body to the small couch and leveled a half-hearted glare at his friend.

"How long has it been since you've slept, Bones?" He asked as he sat beside the Doctor and tugged him into the crook of his arm, delighted when the older man's head lolled onto his shoulder.

"Lost count."

Jim frowned again and dreaded the next question, "How have you kept yourself going?"

Bones bloodshot eyes met his as he managed to pick up and turn his head to Jim's and he couldn't help but memorize how sheepish his friend looked, "Guess you won't take sheer willpower as an answer."

Jim cracked a grin, "I might have. You're stubborn, you know that?"

Bones snorted and let his head drop back to Kirk's shoulder, "Lots of coffee. That tastes like feet. Jim, why does my coffee taste like feet?"

Jim stifled a chuckle and ran a hand through Bones' hair, enjoying the feeling of his friend melting into his side, "I'll have Scotty look at it, don't worry."

"Think Scotty's the one who did it," he heard Bones sigh and watched as the Doctor brought his hand up and murmured, "Can't do surgery. Can't do anything."

Jim grimaced at the tremors racking Bones' hand and captured the appendage in his own. His fingers rubbed circles around the Doctor's swollen knuckles and frowned at the frigid temperature of it, "You need to sleep Bones."

"Can't. Too much to do. Only one that can do it." He recited monotonously, like he'd spouted it to a hundred people before him and for all Jim knew, he could very well have.

"What about your nurses?" Jim asked, tucking McCoy's other hand between them to warm it up.

"Need rest."

Jim's brows rose dramatically, how busy had sickbay been? "And if an emergency comes in? How are you going to deal with that?"

He felt Bones' shoulders sag, "I don't know."

Jim didn't say anything else and refused to let the Doctor up, not like he was trying. He hoped that Bones would sleep, even if it was only for a few hours and kept up the rhythmic sweeping of his fingers through his hair, listening as the Doctor's erratic breathing slowed and deepened.

He wondered just how much damage Bones had done to himself and wanted to kick himself for not thinking of him sooner. He hadn't even realized how bad it had gotten until Sulu had said something. "Lights out."

/

McCoy startled out of his sleep, not but an hour in with the list of things he _had_ to do screaming in his head. His heartbeat was thready and fluttering madly in his chest and he belatedly remembered that the side effects for all the stimulants he'd taken was exactly this.

He was surprised he hadn't woken Jim who had wrapped himself around him like an octopus, grabby hands and all. He wanted to stay here, ensconced in the warmth of his friend and hypnotic rhythm of Jim's breathing.

But he had too much to do. He had to finish writing up the autopsy reports, had to write condolences to families, had too many left to cremate, too many left to embalm and settle into their respective body-bags, had to make sure everyone was going to who they were supposed to, had to check in on Pike again because there was a serious chance he needed another surgery and, and – he took a breath and squeezed his eyes shut as a migraine bloomed across his head and thudded erratically with his equally erratic heartbeat.

That was when he knew things were bad because his body was very much in open revolt against him and he couldn't control it.

He nudged the Captain, "Jim," he cleared his throat because that was a pathetic excuse for a voice that just eked out of his vocal cords, "Jim."

The man jerked awake and clumsily scrubbed his hand across his eyes, "Bones? What's wrong?"

McCoy cursed under his breath because he couldn't believe he was going to ask, "Get a sedative and painkiller then help me to my quarters."

Jim sucked in a breath at the request, "Lights to 45%."

Bones hissed and screwed his eyes shut tighter, throwing an arm across them, "Goddammit!"

Jim frowned in concern and extricated himself from the tangle of their limbs, wondering when that had happened. Standing he ran a hand through his hair and stepped up to Bones, settling his hand on the man's heaving chest, "They in your usual spot?"

Through gritted teeth he hissed out a, "Yes."

Jim nodded and raced around the office, pulling out hypos and other things he thought might come in handy, like some ice and hot packs.

"Come on, Bones, let's get you to your bed."

McCoy really wanted to make a sarcastic quip about that line, but he couldn't find the energy and was focused on not falling on his face as Jim tugged him up from the couch. Everything lurched and spun and didn't get better. It had him rethinking relocating and almost told Jim to dump him on a bio-bed, but his throat was closed up tight and he had to fight to breathe and keep the acrid bile bubbling in the back of throat from coming forward.

"You alright, Bones?"

Jim sounded concerned but all he could manage was a weak nod.

The walk to his room seemed to take forever and when Jim stopped and he heard the telltale _beep_ of a code being punched in, he nearly dropped right then and there, causing Jim to curse and catch Bones before he hit the floor.

"Jesus, Bones." He hissed as he all but hauled the now boneless man into the room, vice like grip bruising and strong.

McCoy moaned and tried to pull his arm from that hold, trying to gather the strength to move his legs on his own again but Jim held him closer and tighter, "I've got you," he whispered in his ear and Bones thought it was highly unfair that he couldn't suppress the shiver that raced up his spine from the intensity behind that statement.

But that's what Jim had always done to him.

Jim all but awkwardly waltzed Bones across the room, fighting to keep them both upright and limbs untangled before he could finally back the Doctor to his bed, watching in fascination as euphoria erupted on Bones face as his knees hit the edge and dropped languidly onto it.

Bones head rolled to the side and hazel eyes, bleary and bloodshot landed on Jim's, "Stay."

The plea was quiet and ragged and Jim fought hard not to jump in bed and snuggled into the Doctor right then and there, "Wasn't even thinking about leaving, Bones."

He prepped the hypo with painkiller in it and watched as Bones exposed his neck, waiting for the injection. Jim sucked air through his teeth seeing the little discolored marks marring the smooth skin there and ran a hand over them, "You've over done the stimulants, haven't you."

Bones weary eyes met his again, "Yea."

Jim peered at the other side and sighed, it too was marked up. He swallowed his anger and depressed the medication into Bones' neck, "You hurt anywhere?" He asked as he grabbed a hot patch.

"Head, chest," he squeezed his eyes shut, "Shoulders. Everywhere."

Jim nodded in alarm, his own heart squeezing painfully, and made a note to have Chapel come in here and scan Bones, "Your arm hurt?" Because he was certain that too many stimulants and pushing your body like Bones had could result in a nasty heart attack.

Bones made a movement that may have been trying to discern just that, but it was more of a jerk of his shoulders and twitch of a hand, "No."

Jim wasn't appeased, resolved now more than ever to get Chapel in here ASAP, and turned Bones over, tugging up his shirt. He ran a rough, calloused hand up his spine and couldn't help the smile that tugged at his lips as the man beneath the touch shivered again, "Tell me where it hurts."

He laid a heavy hand on top of his shoulder and moved down towards the scapula when Bones hissed, "Right there, huh?"

He peeled the backing off the hot pack and smoothed it on top the deep ache and repeated it on the other side. He turned Bones over and stared at the man that had brought him aboard the _Enterprise_ at his own risk. He sighed, "Now I know how you feel when it's me that you're trying to re-piece together after bar and Romulan fights."

Bones snorted and grabbed Kirk's hand, but the usual strength and nimbleness were gone, replaced by stiff and swollen digits that couldn't grip onto anything.

Jim knew that Bones was far gone if he was openly showing affection and he definitely wouldn't appreciate him calling Chapel in to witness it, but for his own piece of mind, he needed to know if Bones was on the edge of heart attack or not, so he flipped open his comm and radioed her to come to the Doctor's quarters.

Bones didn't say anything and Jim's concern began to flare up to dangerous heights, "Bones?"

The Doctor's head swiveled around and it took longer than Jim had liked for him to focus, to recognize him, "What?"

He swallowed hard and casually let his fingers trail to the Doctor's wrist, trying to catch a hint of what his pulse was doing, "Everything alright?"

He wanted to frown, terrified at the flutteringly halting heartbeat under his fingers but kept the light smile on his face, "'M fine, Jim." The Doctor's eyes unfocused and his brows scrunched together, "Why aren't we sleeping?"

He smiled wryly, "Need to know if the sedative I'm going to give is going to kill you or not."

Bones' face scrunched up in confusion and Jim had to fight the urge to coo at him because it was stupidly adorable, "What?"

And just then the room's door swished open and Chapel came striding to the bed, eyes like thunder as she caught sight of McCoy. She glared at him a moment longer before tearing her gaze away to meet Jim's eyes, "If I had known it had gotten this bad, I'd have sedated him long ago, but he's good at hiding and playing martyr."

The acid behind her voice seemed to stir something in Bones because he was trying to wrench his hand from Jim's to sit up. Kirk wasn't going to have any of that and splayed his hand on the Doctor's chest to keep him down, "Can you make sure his heart is alright?"

Chapel nodded curtly and brought her tricoder out. Jim watched her face as she swept the little device over Bones' body and couldn't help the weight that settled in his gut when she frowned. Her voice was subdued when she turned back to Jim, "I don't think using a sedative would be wise. He's fine otherwise, but don't use anything that can interfere with his body's natural rhythm, because Jim, his body is so exhausted that putting him into too deep a sleep would not be good. He might stop breathing or his heart stop beating."

Jim wanted to scream in frustration and hit something because, "_Goddammit,_ Bones!" Jim seethed for a moment before he surged to his feet, causing Chapel to recoil away from the bed, "You harp on me about taking care of myself but you can't do the same?"

He whirled on the man and pulled at his hair, face screwed up in worried frustration. Bones closed his eyes and covered his face with his hands, "I know."

Jim deflated and Chapel excused herself. He sat back down on the bed and began to tug his shoes off and then his shirt. He turned to Bones and did the same, "Pants on or off, you're going to be in bed for a _long_ time."

Bones swallowed because he knew there was no room to argue, couldn't bring himself to because he _knew_ how badly he hurt Jim with his carelessness, "Off."

Jim nodded and began undoing his slacks, woefully aware that this was _not_ what he had in mind when he imagined finally getting Bones' pants off. He was slightly amused by the little intake of air that Bones had sucked in when he had brushed against his hipbone. He chuckled and Bones growled, "Shut up," and muttered something about it not being fair that he couldn't quell the reactions.

Jim filed that away for later use, because he _would_ be revisiting those little reactions his good Doctor seemed to be having quite frequently to his innocent touches.

He doffed his own pants and crawled into bed, helping Bones under the blankets and tugged him against his body, telling the room to cut the lights.

He returned to carding his fingers through the Doctor's locks and dipped down once he was sure the man was asleep to brush his lips across his forehead, "Please sleep, Bones."

/

McCoy surfaced from sleep slowly and languidly and realized that he could focus clearly and concisely for the first time in a long time. He smiled and rubbed his eyes clear of the sleep that fogged them and sighed, relaxed and free of the deep aches he'd come to call close friends from the past two weeks.

He rolled his shoulders, satisfied when he felt little resistance and only a small bloom of pain. He flexed his hands, relieved that the swelling was gone, even if the stiffness was still present. It would dissipate soon enough.

The next thing on his mind was food and he knew he'd be pushing his luck, but a cup of coffee would be amazing. So long as it didn't taste like feet.

He rolled over and nearly squawked because Jim was _right_ there, passed out and peaceful with scruff dusting his chin and cheeks. McCoy drank him in and wondered just how long he had slept, because he couldn't bring himself to believe that Jim had slept in here for that long, or even got up and _came_ back.

He swallowed and reached a tentative hand to his face, his thumb catching Jim's sleep chapped lips and hand settling lightly on his cheek. He nearly recoiled when Jim's thick lashed lids fluttered open, crystal blue eyes sharpening too quickly for McCoy to believe he had been sleeping that long.

He smiled against Bones' thumb and McCoy stared dazedly, dropping his hand casually, "You look like yourself, Bones."

He grunted, "Feel like myself, kid."

He didn't want to get up, but that nagging list kept up a running commentary in his brain and he desperately needed to pee. He rolled over Jim, stopping a second too long when their faces, nose to nose met. Breathing seemed to halt and Bones rolled his eyes at himself after he finished rolling out of bed. He was too awake to allow himself to act like that.

Jim said nothing as Bones disappeared into the bathroom and smiled to himself. If Bones thought he was going back to work today, he was sorely mistaken. It was Alpha shifts day off today and he was going to make sure Bones relaxed.

He stood and stretched languidly before heading to the replicator and punching in an order, hoping that Bones would forgive him for not getting him coffee. Jim narrowed his eyes as that anger surged back into his chest. Nope, Bones would have to deal without coffee until he could be trusted with it again.

The eggs, bacon and hash browns arrived, steaming and mouthwatering, which was ironic considering replicated food was known to be little better than cardboard in flavor, just as Bones stepped out of the bathroom.

"Breakfast, Bones!" He chirped, sweeping over to the table, arms loaded with plates. "Well, come on," Jim commanded as he set the table, noticing that the Doctor was standing in the doorway slack-jawed.

That seemed to have restarted his brain and he hurried to settle into his chair, digging in with a gusto usually reserved for _real_ food.

"Jesus, Bones, hungry?" Jim chuckled, forking a fluffy egg and eyeing it with skepticism. His last eggs had tasted like something green and he was sure Spock had tinkered with the replicators.

"How long was I asleep?" He asked with an eye roll so powerful that it looked like he pulled something.

Jim winced, "Not long enough. About sixteen hours."

Bones nodded, "I woke up on my own, so my body is rested enough."

Ignoring the way Bones was inhaling his breakfast, Jim cleared his throat, "You aren't cleared to go back on duty yet."

The fork that had just stabbed another fluffy bit of egg halted its ascent to his mouth. He glared at his Captain, "I have things I _need_ to do Jim. I can't just –," Jim cut him off with a cleverly thrown piece of bacon.

"Yes, you can. Chapel divided up some of the work that was left. Don't worry, she left you a nice chunk of it so you don't feel useless." Jim grabbed the fisted hand on the other side of the table, tugging it, "Breathe, Bones. It's not the end of the world to share the workload, there's a reason you have underlings."

McCoy shut his eyes and breathed, "You're right."

And he wondered when this thing between them had happened– changed, because it felt a lot different than all the other times at the Academy.

There had always been consoling and physicality between the two of them. His eyes dropped to his fisted hand and slowly let it the tension drain out of it, wondering what Kirk was going to do with that.

He shouldn't have been surprised when Jim's fingers threaded between his own.

"You're going to be overbearing, aren't you." McCoy drawled.

Jim beamed, "Course, how could I pass up an opportunity like this?"


	2. And You're Cold

He ducked his head as another hard slap landed on his shoulder and cringed at the loud laugh being barked out next to him. He wholeheartedly wished that Bones hadn't left him totally alone at this party. He was not used to this sort of attention. Not praise. Not acknowledgement for a job _very_ well done. No he was used to being snidely called out for being charmingly chauvinistic, cockily baiting people into fights that usually led to breaking someone's bar or being incredibly reckless, like driving vehicles off cliffs.

He was used to being talked down to – a constant that had been with him his whole life.

He smiled grimly at the portly Admiral talking loudly next to him, his hand never leaving Jim's shoulder as he continued to clap that meaty fist against him. The Admiral was tipping his drink and sloshing its contents dangerously, a few drops landing on one of the Admiraltys wives' expensively sheer dress, as he recounted how he had had the most faith in the troubled cadet and just _knew _that James T. Kirk was going places.

Jim couldn't help but sneer internally. This Admiral was one of the first to demand his expulsion following his hacking of the _Kobayashi Maru_.

He extracted himself from the circle of upper echelon Starfleet commanders and bid them goodnight, thanking them for the party.

He was tired of rubbing elbows with these people but the pomp and circumstance revolving around his actions on the _Enterprise_, you know stopping Nero and saving Earth,and then the glowing praise from his commandeered crew had led to it.

The same crew that had scrambled to pull strings and probably bribed, possibly blackmailed to retain their positions under his command.

And that was the most ironic thing because he had fully expected to be court-marshalled and thrown in jail – which was a huge reason he hadn't made his move on Bones yet – not given the ship he mutinied on. Especially after being almost strangled by his then Captain. Spock surely hadn't spoken in favor of him, had he? Jim rubbed his throat, the ghost of Vulcan fingers tight and unyielding lingering there.

He sighed as he walked back to his quarters. Tired and sore from the month's events. _Delta Vega _had left its marks as had Nero and his ilk, despite Bones' expert healing. He shivered remembering how easily the Romulan had tossed him around.

He stumbled into his room and extricated his limbs from his uniform in a tangle of trips and curses before he fell to his bed, ready to begin his five year mission. Ready to tackle the mess that was Bones.

But it wouldn't come to pass because Spock, both old and new, would get in the way.

/

Jim had always been fickle but Bones had hoped beyond hope that having been his friend for almost four years would have exempted him from that particular Kirkism. And to an extent, he was.

Jim had badgered and cajoled him into returning to work, as CMO no less, on the _Enterprise_. Apparently he had been one of the few that hadn't slithered in on their bellies demanding to keep their positions under the twenty-five year old captain. Turns out that once he had begrudgingly accepted the role Kirk deemed necessary for him, he had all but dropped from his life in favor of perusing the Vulcan doggedly.

Bones wasn't the jealous type because he knew that Kirk needed all the support and friends he could grab. He had known that something like this, this complete drop from of his life, would have happened eventually and he had guarded and prepared himself for it steadfastly. But he'd be lying if he said that it didn't hurt, because it did, it fucking hurt.

They were both broken, and broken people never lasted, he knew that and it had been sugared lies that he had kept telling himself that made him last this long. Sure, they had lots in common, drinking their woes away, snapping at each other, passive aggressively stealing each other's toiletries, but that's what was wrong with broken people. They enabled each other. They didn't heal from the drunken stupors or the bar fights or the angry, heat of the moment slurs that kept them from talking to each other for days or had them curled up in bed with each other afterwards.

It wasn't healing, no matter how much Jim said otherwise.

But there were times that it was so damn good and, _goddammit_, when it was good, and God only knows how many times he'd done the same for Jim, it was amazing. Especially when it was Jim, in a moment of selflessness, picking up his pieces and gluing him back together with haphazard care. Bones had never been more content.

Never more content to feel Jim's roughed hands on either side of his head when Bones couldn't bring himself to look Kirk in the eyes as he whispered soothing words to ease the pain of something callous his seven year old daughter let slip from her mouth. Or when Jocelyn couldn't quite keep the smugness oozing from her every orifice when she _told_ him that Jo would eventually see him for what he was.

But McCoy could see, after his final voluntary appearance on the bridge, that he had been shouldered aside… and that he would never see eye to eye with the _man_, and he used that term loosely, that had tried to kill his best friend.

He had excused himself after a rather venomous spew of profanities that Spock had provoked from him. The Vulcan had a natural aptitude for getting under McCoy's skin, unfortunately. In short, Spock had said Bones would die alone and miserable because that's all he knew how to be.

And Bones had retaliated with slurred anger and aching pride, "No, that would be _you_. You unfeeling bastard." He left shortly after that last word tore from of his mouth, numb and dazed because the Vulcan had found the chink in his armor and executed his attack ruthlessly.

When Jim hadn't come looking for him after that exchange on the bridge, McCoy knew he had fallen from Jim's graces, especially when word that the Captain had went to _console_ the Vulcan reached him. He didn't know how even begin to bury the roiling hole of stinging hurt and betrayal in his chest.

Because they had been _so_ close to something amazing.

/FOUR MONTHS INTO THE FIVE YEAR MISSION/

It was happening again, but this time, he really felt like he was floundering because he had become used to Chapel and M'Benga and the rest of the nurses picking up what he could let go from his lists.

But being in combat with a conglomerate of pirates, supposedly made up of more than just Klingons and Romulans, usually led to major injuries and bits and pieces of the ship floating off into space.

This was the case now.

Bones was elbow deep in Giotto trying to untangle his intestines from his ribcage while Chapel was bleeding out on the bio-bed next to him.

M'Benga wasn't much better, hobbling around with a hand pressed against his side to staunch blood flow and mumbling under his breath about not being able to save so and so down in security.

The rest of his nurses were god knows where. Probably hiding, possibly floating off into space from that last blast that ripped into floors 8 and 9C, but most likely running around like chickens with their heads cut off because they had no one there to hold their hand and tell them what to do.

And he was stuck performing delicate surgeries in the main room of sickbay because the doors to the OR had been locked down for safety reasons.

The ship rocked as a phaser cannon hit what was left of the shields and McCoy cursed as a piece of Giotto's guts nicked against a broken rib. He grabbed up a cauterizing tool and began to fix the hole in the small intestine, hoping that none of the bacteria from inside had leaked out into the abdominal cavity.

He knew better though and wanted to scream in frustration. Instead he took a breath, gritted his teeth and put metaphorical blinders on himself. Only Giotto mattered, nothing else. The hole fixed, he began the process of re-attaching his guts to the inside walls of his cavity, set his broken rib with a bone bonding agent and stitched him up.

He ripped the latex gloves off and grabbed a few antibiotics from the surgery table and depressed them into Giotto's neck before wiping the surgery site, bruised and swollen, with a cocktail of iodine, trip-antibio ointment and pain reliever.

He turned to Chapel and began to hurriedly stabilize her. Concussion and mostly superficial wounds save for a piece of shrapnel lodged in her shoulder. He frowned and ran the tricorder over it, trying to discern if a major artery had been nicked because Chapel had a couple pints of blood pooling under her.

He swallowed hard and realized that this wasn't a wound he would normally treat without assistance because without one the risks skyrocketed and Chapel could very well bleed out before he even got the clamps in if he was even the littlest bit too slow.

"M'Benga!" He barked and the dazed man swung around, mouth fishing and eyes wide, "Get over here and help me save Chapel!"

He nodded and hobbled over, face pale and skin slick with sweat. M'Benga worked shakily to put his gloves on and Bones just watched him with a sinking heart, feeling the woman's life before him slipping through his fingers because the other Doctor would hurt more than help.

He groaned and looked down at Chapel's pale face, her eyes rapidly moving beneath her lids, "I'm sorry Chris."

A shaky smile wound on her face, "D-did y-you just a-apologize?"

Bones recoiled in horror, "You're still awake?"

"Not b-by ch-ch-oooice," she moaned and her face screwed up in pain, "Take it out," she demanded through gritted teeth, saliva and blood foaming between her usually pearly smile and he had to press a hypo full of painkillers into her to quash the guilt eating at his insides for not checking her sooner.

He eyed M'Benga who was still working on getting his gloves and fingers to cooperate and looked back at Chapel, "You know the risks if I don't get to the artery in time," he reminded her softly.

She dipped her head curtly, teeth still clenched shut as she ground out, "You're the only one I'd trust to do this," and Bones sighed, because he would never get used to everyone being so absolute in their belief of him and turned his focus to the man behind her, snapping, "M'Benga, sit down before you hurt yourself!"

Said Doctor stared dumbly at his wiggling fingers and then at Bones and then back at the twisted and holey glove halfway on his hand. McCoy wiped his hand over his face, smearing Chapel's blood simultaneously across his tightly pinched scowl, and strode around the bio-bed Chapel was in to push M'Benga smoothly onto the one behind him.

"I said, sit down," he growled and prodded at the other Doctor's side, earning a startled hiss and whine. He ran the tricorder and discerned nothing was lodged in the shallow puncture and set the dermal regenerator to it, pumping M'Benga full of antibio's and fluids to counteract the shock he was clearly in.

He halfway wanted to sedate him.

He turned back to Chapel to sedate her instead because she was priority now, nothing could interrupt him. After a hurried hook up of her vitals to the bio-bed, he rummaged through the cooler for a couple bags of synth-blood, readying it to use at the drop of a hat, because he _knew_ he'd need it.

A clamp in his left and right hand on the shard of metal, he took a deep breath and leaned the shrapnel to the side, opening the wound to give him access to the damaged artery.

It took him back to when he was a kid, mixing baking soda and vinegar and food coloring to make lava for his school project, watching it boil up from the chemical reaction, that's what the inside of the wound looked like now. Red and full and getting fuller, to the point of welling up and rolling down Chapel's pale chest.

He couldn't see the artery without suction and worked quickly, fishing around beside the shrapnel and pinching it between forefinger and thumb, working the clamp in with the other hand. He repeated it on the other side and slid the sharp piece of metal, the only thing that was keeping her from bleeding out completely, out.

He used suction, clearing the blood, and could finally see the damage, the torn muscles and ravaged brachial artery, sitting there pumping futilely against the pressure of the clamps and knew then and there that Chapel would need weeks of physical therapy. He rubbed his forehead, overwhelmed, neck deep in blood and exhausted,

Determination set in his jaw and he focused all he had into repairing the blood flow to Chapel's arm.

/

It had taken longer than anticipated because M'Benga had decided that he could _totally_ help halfway through the procedure. Why he thought his latex gloves served him better tucked into his shirt like a makeshift bib, he didn't know and had to sedate the man.

Then another blast, mercifully after he finished closing up Chapels wound, had rocked the _Enterprise _and he was sure that any minute he'd be sucked through a hole and into space.

Instead he fell and knocked his head against the unforgiving floor and his shoulder caught the corner of the counter on his way down. He laid there for longer than he'd ever care to admit, wallowing in the radiating pain shooting from his head, lighting up his already flaming shoulder, to the end of his toes.

Unfortunately, Spock had brought Uhura in and in Spock fashion, asked why he felt it necessary at this time to lay on the ground. Clearly insinuating that McCoy was just lazing about and hadn't just completed almost twenty-two hours of surgery and rounds.

McCoy closed his eyes and prayed to something, anything, to give him the strength to strangle Spock. His eyes popped open and he turned to the Vulcan who was now hovering above him and growled, "Move."

The Vulcan it seemed, didn't understand McCoy speak and its nuances, because if he did, he'd know that the underlying snarl and red creeping up his neck meant that he was going to do something that went against his Hippocratic Oath.

Instead Spock attempted a peace offering, he extended his arm to help the Doctor up and a gleefully evil thought, regarding ripping the hobgoblin's arm off and using it to beat him to death, raced through McCoy's head before he could quash it.

He begrudgingly accepted the assistance and swayed precariously when Spock finally settled him on his feet, because anything the Vulcan did was never in halves and that included yanking injured humans off the ground with an incredible force that would have had NASA excited.

"Are you capable of continuing your work, Doctor?"

"'M fine, Spock. Just went down a little hard during that last blast." He murmured, turning a worried glance towards Uhura, ignoring the queasy churning in his stomach and throbbing in his head, "What happened?"

Spock's eyes, dark and always calculating, swept over the Doctor once more before turning his gaze to Uhura, "There was a surge in electrical power at the communications center."

Bones nodded and set to work, steadfastly ignoring the flare of searing agony in his shoulder when he tried to move it.

"Doctor, you are bleeding."

Was he? He eyed his front dumbly, trying to take stock of what exactly hurt before working his hand around to the back of his head and tenderly sweeping over the sticky wetness there, pulling back and revealing a thick coating of blood on his fingers, "Huh."

"Doctor, you must get that seen to."

Duh.

"Can't, Chapel and M'Benga are down. Not sure where the rest of the nurses are." He added as he snapped another set of gloves over his blood smeared hands before poking at Uhura. Her hair wasn't as smooth as usual thanks to that nasty little shock she got, but all her vitals were normal and everything might taste like metal for a few days afterwards but she was fine.

"The rest of the nurses are in engineering. They have been trapped down there since Scotty sealed the doors to prevent fire from spreading." Spock informed.

"And why the hell were they down in engineering to begin with?" McCoy snarled.

"There seems to have been a party," Spock not-frowned, clearly upset by Bones' lack of leases used on his underlings, "When the first blast happened, a control panel blew up, resulting in the fire."

Bones tuned him out and was cheerfully thinking about how he was going to ring some fucking necks when this was all over with, but first… "Jim ain't hurt, is he?"

And he couldn't help the swell of pain, momentarily eclipsing the demons tangoing in his head, that came when thinking about his errant friend.

"He is not. It seems to be located to Medical this time, ironically."

Ironically. McCoy chuckled darkly because Spock using that word was ridiculous. He regretted the humor instantly when the sharp pain, of what he was certain a hot iron felt like, pierced through his skull.

"Are you alright, Doctor?"

"Peachy," he replied acidly, turning the tricorder on himself. Mild concussion, superficial wound to the back of skull, and a tad bit of swelling that explained the headache from the fifth circle of hell. Lovely, just fucking lovely.

"Doctor?"

He relaxed his face and eyed Spock, "Nothing serious." Which was true. Kinda.

Spock's brows lowered minutely in tandem with his eyes narrowing ever so slightly, "I do not believe you."

"Cookie for you," he groused as edges of the room began darkening and spinning precariously, "I'd suggest you get back to the bridge before Jim blows us up."

Spock looked affronted, if raising his eyebrows could be called that, apparently off McCoy's case now that Jim had been so callously insulted, "I have every faith in the Captain."

Of course Spock would jump to Jim's defense, the two were inseparable now, playing their chess games and exchanging their witty banter. McCoy was not bitter. He wanted to roll his eyes. He really did. Refraining, because he really needed to collapse, he shooed the Vulcan out, "Just trying to get rid of you."

Spock sighed in the form a small puff of air passing through his parted lips, "Gladly," and departed shortly after.

McCoy leaned against Uhura's bio-bed with hands pressed against his temples before he decided that putting himself in the bed next door to hers was absolutely necessary.

/

He should have known it was too easy, just falling into bed and sleeping off the worst of his injuries and exhaustion.

It never was.

Because when he was jolted awake by a dose of 'get the fuck up' juice that he had been concocting – and hadn't gotten around to testing yet, _goddammit_ – for patients suffering from comas, he knew right then and there that that shit was going to be retired and chunked out the airlock.

No one deserved to get woken like _this_.

His body felt both light and heavy, skin tight and muscles shaky, heart beating so rapidly he thought it was going to explode. And judging by the look of abject horror making its way through the nurses hovering above him, it was a real possibility.

Maybe this is what it felt like to be disembodied, feeling but not really feeling, if you could imagine that. It was all numb but he could feel ghosting hands prodding at his body, feel the achingly tight way someone's fingers were wrapped around his wrist and how the faint, commanding voice of M'Benga roared, like sound under water, in his ears.

"He's coding! What the hell did you give him Foster?"

"He wouldn't respond to _anything_!" The woman defended herself and Bones knew that she was _so_ gone, possibly through the airlock with the shit he gave him, as soon as he could get reattach himself to his body.

"So you gave him something _untested_?" M'Benga thundered and pointed to the door, "Get out!"

A thought occurred to him as the Doctor's arm shot out above him. M'Benga's gloves were on his hands, straight and impeccable.

"You better hope he pulls through this!" he yelled after her, "Who's his emergency contact?"

Jim. His heart lurched with a jolt, whether it was from the paddles or the thought that Jim was still noted down as the person who would _always_ be there from him, he didn't know.

"The Captain."

His eyes rolled back in head as the second jolt ran through his body, singeing away feeling while simultaneously lighting up his nerve endings in the aftershocks.

He wanted to mercifully drown in the darkness waiting in the wings but the feeling in his body was becoming more intense, more incredibly raw with each roiling shock, that he couldn't slip under. What kind of cruel monster kept someone awake through this?

Someone was slapping his face, minutes, maybe hours later – his name loud and panicked on their lips, "Doctor McCoy! Leonard!"

He drew a breath, loud and long and he couldn't help but feel and voice in a choked moan the searing agony in his chest.

"McCoy?"

Nothing wanted to work, synapsis were shot and he was twitching but he managed to get a whispered and hoarse, "How many fuckin' time didya shock me?" out.

The laugh, rich and deep and relieved, reached his ears, "Enough to make sure you couldn't leave us," a rough hand landed on his shoulder, squeezing, "Glad you're back."

"Did I leave?" He peeled his lids up and eyed M'Benga, neck protesting in agony at the movement.

The other Doctor's lips thinned and he spoke softly, "A few times." He cleared his throat and patted Bones' shoulder and smiled shakily, "Get some rest. The next time you wake up you won't be hurting so badly, promise."

/

And he kept that promise, because when Bones next woke, he felt better than he had in a while, with the exception of a ghost of an ache rippling in his chest; the only reminder of what had occurred.

He eyed his hands, thoughts jumbled and murmured, "Did one of my nurses really just try to kill me?"

"Not on purpose."

The voice startled him and he looked up at the source. At the end of his bed was Jim, dressed in his regs and arms crossed over his chest. McCoy's mouth dried up at the sight because he wasn't sure how to take that set of his jaw or the forlorn expression taking up residence on Jim's face.

"You did it again, you know." He said, brows scrunched together and the corners of his mouth tugged down.

"Did what?" Bones asked, honestly confused. He eyed the IV's surreptitiously, itching to remove them.

"Conveniently neglected to take care of yourself. You let yourself fall asleep with a concussion. Sleep they couldn't wake you from." He explained, mouth pinched in anger.

Bones sighed in agitation because he had been so blinded with pain at the time, he _wasn't_ thinking straight, "And what was I supposed to do? There was no one –," Jim cut him off, "You could have let Spock help you! That's what!" The Captain breathed deeply and pushed himself up from his chair, rubbing his face with his hands, "I can't do this anymore, Bones."

That sobered him, woke him more forcefully than that concoction that had nearly killed him, because Jim had _not_ been there enough for him to ever think he had the right to say that to him.

He eyed him disbelievingly, because it had always been _him_ that put Jim back together. He was the one that was _always_ torn apart and always felt like he wouldn't be able to do it again, always felt like it was the last time his heart could handle restarting Jim's battered body, but he did it and never regretted it. He chuckled breathily, "After everything you've put me through, you have the nerve to say _that_ to _me_?"

It came out shaky and teeming with some repressed emotion, one he'd be damned he'd ever admit to now, that had Jim blinking owlishly at him, mouth parted in surprise and face riddled with guilt, "Bones –," but he cut himself off when McCoy ripped the first of his IVs out and was over by his side, trying to keep the Doctor from finishing what he started.

"Thought you couldn't do this anymore, Jim?" He snapped and yanked his arm from his Captain's hands and hunched over, chest aching and head pounding, he needed to escape. He was confined to the bed by his quivering legs and had just enough strength left to eye Jim and tell him in a broken voice to, "Just, leave,"

He'd be damned if said he did want Jim to leave. He would forever deny that he had begged him silently with his aching heart and glassy eyes to stay.

But Jim did leave, ignoring how well he knew Bones and how he knew leaving had nearly killed him all over again.

/3 MONTHS LATER/

He took Jim off as his emergency contact and gave his mother's name in its place. He glared at the PADD and realized that he might as well have left it blank for all that she cared.

Brilliant son or no, he hadn't been able to save his father and shamed their family with his divorce and his drinking.

He sighed and checked the time from the corner of his eye, it was nearly time for Chapel's physical therapy. Rubbing his face and laying the PADD on his desk, he sank down into his chair before forcing himself out of it.

Bleary eyed, he traipsed over to the replicator, pretty sure Scotty _still _hadn't swung by to fix the flavor issues, to make a cup of coffee. He eyed the liquid suspiciously and sniffed tentatively. Smelled like coffee. _Looked_ like coffee. Sadly, it didn't make him less paranoid about its dubious taste.

Spock still hadn't changed the eggs back to tasting faintly like eggs and he was fairly certain Jim had plied Scotty with booze to push replicator repairs to the backburner.

He took a sip and promptly spit it back out, groaning.

Because the fucking coffee from the replicator in his office, his lifeblood, still fucking tasted like feet.

He cursed Jim, Scotty, the gods and whatever else he could think of while he strode to his desk to pop himself with a highly restrictive, thanks to Chapel, stimulant hypo.

Because, between Chapel's PT and teaching M'Benga the ins and outs of Jim's allergies and proclivity to injure himself _and_ simultaneously agonizing over his decision to hand him over to the other Doctor's care, he was running on the bare minimum of what was considered a healthy amount of sleep.

He ran a hand through his hair and walked into the PT room, just to the left of his office and greeted Chapel with a tired smile.

She frowned and reached out to grab his forearm, "You really need to take better care of yourself."

He quirked a brow and smirked lightly, "I must really look like shit for you to be showin' such concern."

She smacked him and stood hastily, moving into his space and ignoring the twinge in her shoulder from her injury. She batted his hand away and chided him, "You listen here, Leonard. Just because you've quarantined yourself away from everyone doesn't mean that everyone's stopped caring."

He wanted to argue but he deflated instead, "Sorry, Chris." He grabbed her good shoulder and steered her back to her seat and settled in the chair stationed slightly to the side of hers, "Let's get started, I'm now woefully and painfully aware of how badly I depend on you know that you're outta commission."

She snorted, "Of course," then she sobered, "Why are you handing the Captain's care to M'Benga?"

McCoy fumbled a little as he was rotating her shoulder. He cleared his throat, "Compromised."

Chapel looked thoroughly confused, "Compromised? Len, I don't understand, you two are thick of as thieves," and she bit her lip because that hadn't been true since they had all been reassigned, "Well, you _were_."

He nodded, "Were, Chris, were." He sighed and for a moment his frustration flared and his mouth let out more than he was prepared to say, "I don't know what's happened. We've just drifted."

Chapel's face softened and she did something that most people didn't dare even _think_ about doing to the acerbic Doctor.

She hugged him.

/

He was in his quarters, swirling a tumbler of bourbon in his less than comfortable chair, when Jim stormed through his door.

McCoy eyed the man and recognized the _'absolutely pissed off, I'm going to rip you a new asshole face'_ immediately. Jim was gripping a PADD in his left hand and was pointing a shaky finger at Bones with the other, "What the _hell_ is this?" He waved the PADD at him.

Halfheartedly, McCoy waved him over and skimmed the face of the document that had been pulled up, "It's a reminder for your physical, Jim."

He could practically hear Kirk's teeth grinding together, "Not that, smartass. _This_." He pointed at the top right-hand side.

McCoy swallowed a mouthful of liquor, "That, Jim, is your physician."

His nose flared, "And _who_ does it say it is?"

Bones cleared his throat and tossed the PADD to the desk before taking another swig of bourbon so he could compose himself, "M'Benga."

"Yes," Jim hissed and slammed his hands down on the desktop, "Explain to me why my Doctor, the one person in the world that knows me inside and out better than I do myself, hands me off to some fumbling oaf?"

McCoy glared and jumped to defend his colleague, "M'Benga is a very goo –," Jim interrupted, "I don't care how good you think he is, he isn't _you_!"

Slack-jawed, Bones set his tumbler down and eyed his Captain, speaking softly as he explained, "I thought it would be easier for you. I would _not_ have handed you over to him if I didn't personally feel like he could handle it."

"Easier for me?"

The way he said it made McCoy's heart thump painfully in his chest. He looked away because now he wasn't sure who was the bigger, more selfish ass of the two of them, "The last time we spoke," he grimaced as the statement passed his lips, "it didn't seem like you would mind your care being handed over."

Jim sat heavily on the edge of the desk, arms crossed and head bowed, "Bones," he started softly, pained, "don't think I haven't realized how big of jerk I've been to you."

McCoy's head rose and met Jim's burning eyes. Bones exhaled sharply, tapping his fingers against the bourbon glass and swept his eyes across the desk, studiously gazing at the PADD, "Jim, I don't expect to be anything other than your CMO. You're my Captain."

The corners of Jim's mouth pulled down, "Bones, we're friends."

McCoy blinked hard, chancing a glance at his Captain and asked hoarsely, "Are we?"

Jim looked like he'd been slapped, "You – of course we are," he fumbled.

Bones looked away again and took a deep breath, nodding slightly, "Of course." He turned away from the desk and ran his hands over his face before leaning over and propping his elbows on his knees to cradle his head in his hands, "What happened between us, Jim?"

He refused to look up because he couldn't face his Captain at this moment.

He heard Jim shifting, "Would you believe that I met an alternate reality Spock on Delta Vega?"

/

_A/N: One more chapter to go because it didn't feel right having them make up and suck face after the way this ended, which is completely and wildly off from what I had planned, but eh, I like this better. Anyway, yes, Spock seems like he's an ass, but well, if you guys hadn't noticed, he was a pretty big ass during the first film and half of the next one._

_Medical crap is me using my vast (*laughs* I only watched to S4 and haven't seen it in many, many yearrs) knowledge of Grey's Anatomy (the one where the two people are stuck together on a pole, the only thing keeping them from bleeding out and her from dying) for Chapel's injury. _

_Bones being neglectful of himself seems par for the course with most Doctor's (he also hates Spock at the moment so of course he isn't going to let the hobgoblin fix him up) who are so obsessed with getting everyone else fixed up before themselves. _

_Jim being absentminded in his relationship with Bones is something I _could_ see happening. New to captaincy, trying to fulfil Spock Prime's advice for being friends with Spock, being plain busy and not noticing how little they actually talk. Time has a way of getting away from you when you're up to your neck in work._

_Also, I have to fuckin' post this now. I've picked at it and picked at it and if I don't post now, I never will._


	3. Stay With Me

Contrary to popular belief, McCoy didn't drink _just_ to forget.

He drank to focus, to keep his mind from running in circles and giving himself a migraine. Because outside of Sickbay there was nothing to focus on, nothing to center his being and he didn't quite know how to be _just_ Leonard and relax.

He knew how to be a doctor, commanding and in control of every life in his hands, but a normal functioning man? Not so much anymore. Somewhere along the way, he had lost himself, his essence, in his work and his acerbic armor to keep people at arms-length and it made thinking about things, like what Kirk had told him, that much scarier.

It drove him to drink more than he had initially wanted.

Usually he relished when his mind scattered into a million strands of thought, it not dwelling on things he couldn't control.

He stripped from his scrubs, tumbler of whiskey on the bathroom counter and his thoughts scarily narrowed. He absently turned the shower on and leaned against the counter, running through what Jim had divulged.

There was another Spock, an older and more approachable form of the pointy-eared bastard that Jim had met on Delta Vega.

There was mindfucking. What elder Spock had done wasn't a meld, so sayeth their own Vulcan, and it was something Jim was still recovering from. Jim said he still had echoes of nightmares that weren't his own and saw ghosts of the people around him – ghosts of what they were yet to become – while he was awake.

Then there were the allusions made by elder Spock that Spock of this time and Jim were destined to be friends; to become an unstoppable force.

Destined.

He rolled that word around his mouth. It tasted bitter.

He washed it away with another swig of whiskey as he stepped into the spray, ignoring the way the shower burned his skin as much as the alcohol did his throat.

Where did that leave him?

Jim said nothing had changed. That he had been swept under the current of duties and responsibilities that came with his new and grown up title and honestly hadn't realized how little time they had actually spent together. Kirk had said that his time spent with Spock was mostly work related, that their friendship was still a long time in coming and he was trying to fulfil elder Spock's words.

Then admitted sheepishly that he was trying to fill that aching hole within himself that had bloomed during the meld. He _wanted_ to feel that deep and meaningful relationship that he had been told about, especially after brushing against in his ghost dreams; the incredible feeling of it – the potential of what _could _be.

He had scoffed at the time because Jim was explaining it as if he was justifying himself to a jealous wife. McCoy wasn't jealous and he most certainly wasn't a jilted lover. He was just a friend, one that felt awful for making Jim feel guilty about investing time in someone else.

He sighed into the hot spray, head pressed into the cold ceramic tiles and tumbler, now more water than whiskey, dangling in his left hand. Even as he said it, he couldn't quite make himself believe it anymore. It sounded hollow and made everything in his body strain just beneath his skin, tight and hot and agitated.

He said it aloud, "Friend."

And it fell flat against the cold tiles.

Just like the water ricocheting off his skin.

/

He found himself needing a distraction.

And work was easy. Work helped him function, so when his next shift rolled around, he threw himself into with gusto.

He had a PADD in his hand, eyes reading over the inductions for the day and absently pushed an order for coffee into his replicator.

Chekov and Sulu were both in with a nasty cold, noted down by a nurse he didn't quite know and decided to double check just to make sure that that was what they were dealing with. He smiled wickedly as he thought about giving them both a nice reaming that just happened to include a heaping side of teasing about being more judicious about _when_ they stick their tongues down each other's throats.

He furrowed his brow as he thumbed through another file and picked up his coffee before settling into the chair behind his desk. His chair creaked as he leaned back in it.

A few people from engineering were in for burns, one for a broken arm, another for a, his eyes narrowed, _wiring_ _incident_?

He sighed heavily and continued to the next file and snorted. Oh this was just funny.

There was someone from Gamma shift with something oozing and rancid in his pants. McCoy noted down that nurse Foster, the one that barely escaped being thrown from the airlocks for almost killing him, could take care of _that_ one.

He sipped his coffee, the heat searing and comforting and taste, unfortunately, familiar. He spit it back out as soon as it touched his tongue, "God fucking dammit!" He threw the mug across the room and bellowed again, "Scotty!"

In another part of the ship the hairs on Scotty's neck stood on end.

/

It was a brilliant plan.

He circled the desk, one hand propped under his chin with the other folded across his middle, watching the liquid of the mugs he had just sat down slosh in lazy circles around the rim. He sent out a comm to the engineer, who had had ruined more days than McCoy would ever admit, for him to come to the CMO's office. Satisfied, Bones sat in his chair, picked up one of the numerous PADD's littering his desk and grinned.

A few minutes later, his office door _swished_ open and Scotty popped his head in warily. McCoy arched a brow at him and the engineer cleared his throat, "Ya needed ta see me?"

Bones nodded and motioned for the man to sit down, "Just wanted to talk to you about an," he squinted his eyes at the PADD, "Ensign Tomas. It says here that he was involved in a 'wiring incident', care to explain, exactly, what the hell that is?"

Scotty snorted because apparently a crewman coming in with things, _important _dangly things, almost falling off due to lack of blood circulation was funny. Scotty waved his hand and chuckled, "Ah, tha kid and some other Ensign are inta a wee bit of bondage."

McCoy's brows lowered as he leveled a glare on the Chief Engineer, "I see." He straightened in his chair and cleared his throat, "Coffee?"

Scotty's eyes dropped to the mug, "O'Course, thanks."

McCoy watched on baited breath as Scotty took the mug into his hands and inhaled the wafting steam, "Is there anything else, Doctor?"

Bones lifted the PADD again, "Matter of fact," he trailed off as the rim of the mug touched the Scotsman's mouth, "Care to tell me how the coffee is?"

The comical widening of the engineer's eyes and the horrified twist of his lips as he fought not to spit out the hot liquid was more than enough payback.

Because McCoy was generous like that.

Scotty opened his mouth over the mug, letting the foul liquid dribble out, and flicked his tongue out of his mouth and scraped it against his teeth to get rid of the taste, "Wha' tha bloody 'ell was tha'?"

McCoy leaned back in his chair and smiled a lazy smile because all was right in the world now, "That, Scotty, was payback. Now fix my fucking replicator."

The Scotsman stared open mouthed at the Doctor. Then cracked up laughing.

/

McCoy was more focused on the PADD in his hand than he was the food in front of him or the people milling about around him. That is, until the loud squeaking and scratching of chair legs being dragged across tile hit his ears. He sighed heavily, donned a scowl and snapped his head up at the perpetrator.

"Heya Bones!" Jim greeted in regular Kirk fashion; bright eyes, killer smile and sure stance.

He should have been expecting this because Jim had been trying his hardest to weasel back into a routine with him, even if it had been sporadic at best. He sighed through his nose and nodded his head, "Jim."

Kirk's smile and hands that were moving to set his tray down faltered slightly. He cleared his throat and sat down heavily in the chair across from Bones, rubbing his head with a hand, "How is everything?" – _Are we alright? Because we really haven't talked about it._

McCoy sat his PADD down and picked up a fork and stabbed at something mushy on his plate, intent on taking advantage of whatever this was, "Fine, Jim, just fine." – _Give it time_. _We'll get there, Jim._

It always amazed McCoy how easily Jim's moods flipped from one end of the spectrum to the other with such ease. Kirk's eyes sparked and his smile grew, "That's great, Bones." – _I'm glad I didn't screw it up._

McCoy's lips twitched, threatening to let loose emotion, but he beat the temptation down. He glanced back down at his plate and grimaced. What the hell did he get? He poked it with his fork again and it made a _pfft_ sound before deflating, his eyes widened, "Uh, Jim. Did Scotty do any 'upgrades' to the replicator down here?"

Jim in turn was staring wide eyed at Bones' plate with abject horror, "He put in a work order this morning," he swallowed and fell back in his chair, because he wasn't quite sure he was ready to deal with sentient food this early or not, "The hell did you do to piss him off?"

McCoy cursed under his breath and slide his plate across the table, far away from Jim and himself. Bones looked him in the eye hard, because he wanted no doubt in Kirk's mind that what he was about to say was anything less than serious, "Jim, I'm going to fucking kill your engineer."

It took less than a week for Scotty to begrudgingly fix the program for McCoy's food card.

/

The next mission happened three months and a handful of times where there was much sweet talking, to get Bones to join Jim's and Spock's chess games, later.

It was an inhabited planet where the prime directive was in full effect and their mission was simple; collect organic, bacterial and liquid samples.

Therefore, it was a Spock mission.

Therefore, Jim was insistent on going.

And McCoy was too busy reading the atmospheric readings, which were strange, with Sulu to pay much attention to when they left, until the flashing red lights and sirens erupted. A strangled noise left Bones' throat as he read the read out, _why the hell had it taken so long,_ for the planet and was fighting with his comm to get ahold of one of the imbeciles planet side.

"Spock! _Jim_! Someone pick the fuck up right now!" His breathing was harsh and the growl in his throat more pronounced, "Jesus, someone pick up," he pleaded again, pushing the comm to his forehead and closing his eyes.

He sucked a breath in as the crackle of Spock's voice ripped through his comm, "Doctor, please cease yelling."

McCoy had to remind himself that Spock wasn't all that bad and just liked getting under his skin. At least, that's what Jim had told him, "Now is not the time, _Commander_," there he thought, maybe _that_ would get his attention.

"Indeed, it seems that we are not as compatible with this planet's atmosphere as I had deduced," he replied dryly.

"No shit, prepare for beam up to the decontamination room," McCoy stated and kept himself from asking about Jim, because he knew, in his gut that the moron wasn't alright.

And he was right.

When he reached the decontamination room with his supplies, Spock was the only one of the five that went down, still conscious.

"Any symptoms yet?" McCoy asked, hands loading medicine into hypos and eyes trained on the pulse and oxygen readings of the five behind the thick pane.

The Vulcan eyed his companions, "The others seem to have hit the coma phase quickly. I am beginning to experience tremors and decreased cognitive functions."

"What a shame," McCoy replied with bite and closed his eyes. Taking a deep breath and shaking his head before glancing at the Vulcan, he said, "Sorry, reflex."

"Apology accepted."

A heavy sigh escaped through McCoy's lips and he donned a biohazard suit, five hypos ready, before he slipped between the heavy doors to be decontaminated and then through another set to his patients. Working on autopilot he depressed hypo after hypo into carotid after carotid, stopping at Jim and turning the canister of medicine in his gloved hand, "I don't know if he's allergic. We've never had to use a flusher before."

"Not giving it to him is not an option, Doctor." Spock countered. McCoy pivoted on his heel and eyed the Vulcan, hunched over against the wall and sweating the heavy metals from his skin as the flusher worked through his system.

"I know," he turned back to the Captain, emotion weighing his voice, "It's always been a damned if you do, damned if you don't with Jim."

He turned Jim's face upward to access to the artery in his neck and depressed the hypo into it without hesitation. He waited, fingers dug into Jim's pulse point, every joint and muscle in his body stiff and unmoving as he watched for signs of the adverse reaction he was sure was going to happen.

"If I may, Doctor," Spock began, straightening out against the wall, "what do you mean by that statement."

McCoy quirked a brow and looked over his shoulder at the Vulcan, "You don't understand the saying? Pretty sure it's self-explanatory." He turned back towards Kirk, breathing catching as beads of sweat, shiny from the metals, began to form on Jim's face. McCoy relaxed.

Spock studied the Doctor, dark eyes sweeping between him and the Captain, "I do understand the idiom but if I am not mistaken, and I am not, you implied it with a double meaning."

McCoy froze and fisted his hand on his thigh. He had to unclench his jaw before he turned back toward the Vulcan, "How do you think I meant it, Spock."

Because that's what McCoy did well, deflect.

"I believe you are referring to your relationship with the Captain," Spock was standing now, shiny stains from the metals flushing from his skin were all over his science blues. He tugged at the cuff of his sleeve, smoothing an imaginary wrinkle, and turned his steely gaze to the Doctor.

"Congratulations," McCoy gritted out as he stood to check on the other crewmen.

Spock blinked a few times, the only sign of his confusion, "You misunderstand, Leonard, I am merely curious as to why you said it now that your relationship with the Captain has improved."

McCoy rolled his shoulders and ran hand through his hair.

A heart to stone cold logic with Spock.

Fabulous.

"It _is_ better," he began only to be cut off as Spock held his hand up.

"But you have reservations."

McCoy bowed his head in thought, mulling his words over, before he looked at the Vulcan meaningfully, "You can't have reservations with Jim. It's all or nothing with him," he replied, "and it scares the hell out of me."

"How so?" Spock's brows lowered minutely in confused thought.

"Because I have nothing left to give." He answered silently. The heavy silence, now beyond awkward, was broken by McCoy clearing his throat, "Alright then, nice chatting with you, I'm going to go jump out the airlock now."

McCoy's inner turmoil was interrupted by Spock, "One cannot jump out of an airlock. You are sucked through it by vacuum."

McCoy glared at him, but was internally grateful for the not so Vulcan reaction of Spock attempting to lighten the mood. Bones snarked, "We just had a civilized conversation. I didn't want to strangle you. I'm just beating the universe to the punch before it implodes."

Spock's lips twitched ever so faintly, "You would not be able to strangle me."

/

The observation deck was somewhere he normally avoided because being reminded that he was in space, alone and millions of miles away from his precious dirt and peaches, wasn't something he needed at any given moment.

Now though, the shining borealis of metals surrounding the planet they had just left, enthralled him. It was beautiful and dangerous all rolled together.

The interference of it with their electronics, namely comms and navigation, had stalled them for the time being. Scotty wasn't happy, but he never was when his silver lady was incapacitated.

But for now, McCoy just watched the fluctuating lights, letting his mind blank and his body forget its aches for the moment.

A few, preciously quiet moments later, the doors to the room opened. McCoy groaned low in his throat and leveled a glare at the intruder, "You were supposed to stay in sickbay until I released you."

Jim spread his arms and shrugged his shoulders, a shameless smile on his lips, "What can I say, you're a miracle worker. Feel like a million credits."

McCoy snorted, "You ain't getting out of your post treatment exam in the morning."

Jim's arms fell and he slumped petulantly before whining, "Booooones."

"Dammit Jim," he glared at the man good humoredly. This song and dance was familiar, "Either sit down and shut up or leave."

Jim walked over to Bones and slid down the wall next to him, resting his arms on his knees. He was quiet for a while before he peeked at the doctor from the corner of his eye, "What exactly was it that happened?"

"This isn't being quiet, just so you know," McCoy grouched before sighing and launching into explanation, "The atmosphere was heavily laden with mercury and copper molecules. They leeched into your skin. Simple case since we got you up so quickly. Just needed to flush the metals out of your system."

Jim twisted his thumbs together, "I guess it messed with our atmospheric readings?"

McCoy nodded, "Much like it's doing now. It made everything slow."

Jim's head fell back against the wall and he swallowed hard, "I heard you and Spock."

For a moment McCoy forgot how to breathe.

Jim's blue eyes flickered over to rest on the Doctors face, "Why do I scare you?"

The hurt McCoy saw on Kirk's face made his chest explode with a raw and deep ache. His hands fisted in his lap and jaw clenched as he closed his eyes. Taking a breath, wondering how he could explain this without stripping his soul bare and hurting Jim further. He licked his lips, "You apparently weren't very awake, because you misunderstood. I'm not scared of _you,_ Jim."

McCoy chanced a peek at his Captain.

That striking jaw was set tight again and Bones figured that not looking at Jim would make this much easier.

Kirk ran the conversation though his head once more, _'All or nothing, nothing left to give… no reservations.' _

McCoy exhaled heavily and closed his eyes, "Jim, I –," but he was cut off when the Captain stood to pace. He furrowed his brows, "Jim?"

He turned those bright blue eyes, burning and penetrating, back on McCoy, "You're scared of yourself."

Bones didn't reply and Jim continued stalking around the room, because he was _very _close, too close to figuring out the truth without McCoy sticking his foot in his mouth and giving himself away. Jim paced around, deep furrow weighing on his brow and mouth pursed tightly.

Then Jim stopped and the severe mask of thought washed from his face as his eyes widened and mouth parted. He turned to McCoy slowly and Bones wanted to flee. But like a deer caught in headlights, he sat frozen and terrified. Jim swallowed and McCoy's eyes followed the dip of his Adams-apple. Kirk took a hesitant step forward, "Bones," he whispered, hands out in a placating manner as he approached.

He couldn't move even if he wanted to because his brain seemed to have shut down and turned to fucking mush.

Jim continued his slow pace towards the doctor, eyes watching and wary, before he stopped right in front of him and squatted, ignoring the pops from his knees, "Bones," he said again softly, "What do you not have left to give?"

At that question, McCoy cast his eyes around, as if looking for an escape route and took a shaky breath before resting his gaze back on the blue ones piercing him. A low, rasping whisper was all that came out, trying to warn the Captain away, "Jim."

Kirk shook his head stubbornly, "No, not this time, answer me."

Was it pride that kept it in?

Or was it fear?

Maybe a mixture of both because McCoy shut down and Jim sighed in frustration.

"You're the most stubborn person I've ever met, you know that?" Jim chided and rubbed his face, continuing, "I'm not stupid, Bones. I'm not blind, at least, not right now. I see you and see through the bullshit you're trying to throw at me."

McCoy's hands fisted again, "I never thought or said you were stupid, Jim."

"Then stop acting like I am," he shot back before collapsing to the floor, legs touching the doctor's.

Bones chuckled breathily and pressed his thumb and forefinger into his eyes, "What do you want from me, Jim? To tell you how much my heart breaks every time I see you laying in a bio-bed half dead? To tell you how much it fucking stutters when you bounce into my office with that stupidly perfect smile?" Bones sucked in a quivering breath, looking at Jim incredulously with suspiciously bright eyes, "To extol my undying love for you?"

Bones snorted and looked away, "Because that _isn't_ going to happen."

Jim grinned like an idiot, "Good, because if you started all that romantic bullshit, I'd probably think something was wrong with you." He grabbed McCoy's shoulders and hauled the man upright, "I've never expected anything like that because it _isn't _you." He leaned in and McCoy could feel Jim's breath fanning over his lips, "However, I am."

Jim's lips brushed against Bones' gently before he leaned his forehead against the doctor's, "I've been an incredibly neglectful ass," he chuckled bitterly, "I had so much planned for us."

But Bones was still stuck on the feeling of that chaste kiss.

His brain _might_ have imploded.

Because he couldn't stop himself from launching himself at Jim in a tangle of limbs and fevered touching, because _this_ was what he was waiting for.

This perfect and terrifying thing between them; what had always been there.

He pulled back and looked into Jim's eyes, pupils blown, and opened his mouth but Jim stopped him with a well-placed kiss.

He smiled against _his_ doctor's lips, "I know, Bones. I love you too."

(A/N: Yay not so angsty and Bones finally got Scotty back. I like the way things wrapped up and the way it ended. Also, apologies that it isn't as long as the first two chapters, but it was difficult to write, because apparently I find heartache and doom much easier to write than light hearted filler.


End file.
